Wednesday, 31 December 2014

There's been some huge triumphs this year; driving, turning 18, obtaining a tattoo, going it alone.

Then there's the smaller triumphs. Which, in actual fact, probably mean so much more to me than everything else combined.
Those small moments. Five minutes of laughing, two minutes of crying, a night of drinking and a morning of smoking. Those significant moments. Well, they've been grand.

It's the tiny things. Like waking up with a house full of friends, all carrying foggy heads. Stumbling outside - using energy from the previous night's beers and baguette - with coffee and toast. I'm sure we considered ourselves highly sophisticated and continental.

The truth is, none of the big triumphs mean half as much as those nights.

I remember every cheesy song, every out of tune power ballad, every hour spent driving through town, and every hour of sleep I lost.

We were silly with excitement. Everything felt new and fun. It was strange and so were we, but it wasn't threatening.

2014 has been home. We've had and felt it all.

It's that feeling you get when you try something for the first time, it's never quite what you expect but it evolves in to an adventure all the same.
There was no one in this adventure, bubble, sanctuary but us. Half-drunk with the prospect of things to come and completely engulfed in each other's love.

We started with a bang and we'll go out just the same. We're bright, and ready for a storm.

Monday, 15 December 2014

This is where I struggle with Christmas, this time of the year makes me uneasy. And that's not because I'm part Grinch, part Head Elf.

I just get a little manic, in the best and worst way.

Christmas songs get me dancing and full of the jazz notion and the prospect of eating honey-roasted parsnips fills me the nothing but excitement.

Then there's the not so good side of being manic towards Christmas.

I feel everything. Every tiny speck of worry, stress, criticism. All absorbed at full speed - and full concentration - in to my system. It runs through my head, my veins, my bones. It makes me weak and vulnerable.

The passing of the strongest woman I knew on Boxing Day just four years ago hits me. Every year. It hits me hard and fast. Strong and true.

Now I'm not shunning these feelings. They're real, and justified because they are mine and I still love her.

What a woman. So free in her wildness. So elegant and a total badass. The sweetest cherry and most sour lemon. She left a taste in your mind, one that only filled you with pure amazement and wonder.

--

It reminds me to stay mindful. To acknowledge that it's okay to go a little manic, just in moderation. To remember that she was a vibrant soul and I am too.

Things aren't always swell, but there's always something to learn from the not so swell.

It will get better. I can still eat my honey-roasted parsnips and I can still take a day to be still and remember.

There's no compulsory rule that says 'enjoy every minute of the Christmas period.' It's my time, to feel what I want, do what I want, enjoy what I want.

And the simple fact that I know this to be true means my Christmas will be loud and quiet, busy and calm and just right, in all the ways I see it to be.